


Time Flurries

by its_mike_kapufty



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [23]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Bittersweet, Childhood Memories, Getting Older, M/M, Roughhousing, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: Rhett falters. He searches Link’s eyes for a split second before he smiles and sits back on his heels. “I have to watch you go gray, and you’re the one having an aging crisis overmyhair?”
Relationships: Christy Neal/Link Neal, Jessie McLaughlin/Rhett McLaughlin, Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Series: Tumblr Ficlets [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170695
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Time Flurries

**Author's Note:**

> For the one-word prompt "snowflake."

It never snows like this in Burbank. 

And it usually doesn’t snow _period_ this close to Thanksgiving, but the climate’s been off-kilter for a good while anyway. It’s freezing out, and a thick layer of soft, glistening white coats the ground in a good half-foot or so. The sky sheds fat flakes that had lost their wonder years ago for the chaperones. 

At least the kids are enjoying it… too much, perhaps, ‘cause when the front porch creaks open and Christy beckons them inside, she’s met with a chorus of groans. Such a lame end to their snowball fight. 

“Lando,” Link calls, pointing out into the yard, “pick up the castle molds!” But Lando’s with Shepherd and his selective hearing must’ve been a go; Link knows that if he’d heard, he would’ve obeyed happily. Such is the life of fathers as Rhett stands from his deck chair and stretches his lower back. 

“I’ll get ‘em.”

Link’s hot on his tail. “He had a shovel out here too, right?”

In heaps of boot-ruined snow, Rhett stoops to collect the castle mold and bangs the excess ice out of it with the heel of his hand. Link’s searching, twisting this way and that for any flashes of color. Nothing. “Huh. Guess not.” In his periphery, Rhett doesn’t move. Just stands there limp, toy at his side.

When Link looks, up his mouth curls into a fond, downward smile. Rhett’s standing there blinking comically against the flurry of snowflakes finding his eyeballs. One at a time, like he’s twitching.

“Y’okay there?”

“Your hair’s gettin’ wet just standin’ out here,” Rhett smirks, evening his blinks.

“So’s…” Link hesitates, squinting up at Rhett’s coiffed curls. They’re collecting snowflakes like iridescent baubles in a net, but none of them melt. The peaks are too stiff and high. “Oh my goodness.” With a laugh, Link reaches up, trying to brush the snow away.

“Hey hey hey!” Rhett scoffs, elbowing the graze away. “I’m goin’ for a new look, don’t ruinit! I want frosted tips.”

Link presses his smile to a thin line as Rhett waits, eyebrows high in anticipation.

“…get it? Frosted–”

“I got it, Rhett. Gracious.” But the snow on Rhett’s head is starting to legitimately bother him, and he goes for another swipe. Easy as breathing, Rhett catches his wrist and laughs a daring _ho ho oh,_ holding him still.

Link pouts. “Your hair is so _long!_ Your body heat can’t even–” 

He goes in with his free hand, and Rhett grasps that one as well, pressing their chests together in a challenging lock. 

“You gonna try again, son?”

And Link knows better than to mess around, given Rhett’s bad back. It’s too bad that his playful irritation gets the better of him; he kicks out and brings a heel against the back of Rhett’s knee, and with an entertaining flash of betrayed surprise, Rhett goes down, dragging Link with him into the snow. 

Their laughter starts small and burgeons into something wild and reminiscent–college wrestling matches in their dorm room and their own snow day fights in Mama Di’s backyard. Rhett’s grunting and Link’s howling with laughter as more snow mashes into his hair, wetting it and cleansing it of pomade. 

Link knew he wouldn’t win. It doesn’t take long until Rhett’s got him pinned to the ground, his disheveled locks blotting out most of the sky as he leers down at him.

“…I’m dead?” he asks. It’s a threat, and Link shakes his head vigorously.

“No! You already got me, man. I just…” He swallows thickly and sighs, energy dropping. “Your hair’s so long. Didn’t used to be. When did it get so long?”

Rhett falters. Searches Link’s eyes for a split second before he smiles and sits back on his heels. “I have to watch you go gray, and _you’re_ the one having an aging crisis over _my_ hair?”

Link sits up. Corrects his glasses to look at Rhett.

“I just… things have changed so much, is all. Freaks me out if I think about it. It’s like,” Link speaks to the snow between them, “like I woke up and we were suddenly forty with wives and kids and obligations and… time just goes _so fast._ It scares me, sometimes.”

When Rhett stands, Link thinks he’s done entertaining the bizarre, left-field confession. But he offers a hand to Link, and Link gazes up to find those gray eyes creased in smile.

“We been together our whole lives, bo.”

Link’s heart warms in the cold, and he lets himself up on Rhett’s arm. 

“Yeah.”

“Does _that_ scare you?”

“…S’the only part that _doesn’t_ scare me.”


End file.
